


Ormslíki þriðjungr

by Mrs_Poncey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: After Hogwarts, Character Driven Plot, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Ending, Humor, M/M, Multi, Norse Mythology - Freeform, RarePairSoulmateFest, Slash, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Triad-Soulmates, some battle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22684108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Poncey/pseuds/Mrs_Poncey
Summary: Draco Lucius Malfoy had dreams. Dreams of power, of gaining prestige at the Ministry of Magic, of being better than ‘Father’.Half a decade of careful made plans flushes down the drain when at twenty-one not a number but a rune appears on his wrist. A rune that is so well known in the wizarding world, he identifies his soulmate at once. But, what does the rune mean? And why would fate tease him with a mate of the gender he preferred, then present it in an impossible ginger freckled package?Merlin's bollocks, father is going to kill him when he finds out.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/ Charlie Weasley/ Loki Fárbautison
Comments: 23
Kudos: 20
Collections: Hermione's Nook RarePair Soulmate Fest





	1. Draco Malfoy and his freckled problem.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Hermione's Nook RarePair Soulmate Fest.  
> I had a blast creating this story, it's finished with the exception of editing the last chapters. 
> 
> A huge thank you to my fellow Fest writers. What a rollercoaster, I loved every second of it!I have no rights to these characters created by others, just using them for non-profit reasons. 
> 
> Written in British English, not been beta’d. Art by me.

# ↞↭↠ ** _Draco Malfoy_ **↞↭↠

 ** _T_** _h_ _e_ fantastic view of Hyde Park greeneries laid forgotten as Draco Malfoy awaited turning twenty-one. With the perfect preparation—as expected of the Malfoy scion—he’d settled for an extended weekend reservation in the Royal Suite of the London Baglioni Hotel. Draco sat perched in the centre of the king-sized bed—naked from the waist up, and with his right forearm angled upwards—waiting for the number to appear. 

His eyes kept flickering over the washed-out stretch of skin at the thinnest part of his wrist as he leaned against mountains of deep rust-gold pillows at ten-forty five in the afternoon. It had been maddening, knowing a number had been right there this whole life, and not being allowed to see it until the second he turns of age. 

‘She better be a pureblood witch or father will spell my bloody bollocks off.’ With closed eyes, the confession drifted into the empty room. His left fingers uncurled and strayed to his wrist. The soft pads of his fingertips trailed yet unmarked skin while the rapid thrum of his heart vibrated under his touch. Oh, how he wished for grey. If his soulmate hadn’t reached marking age, he would still have time. Grey was suitable, Draco might control grey. Black didn’t bare his thoughts. 

'Merlins balls,’ Draco’s tongue traced his brittle lips, convinced that today, time moves slower. As a Malfoy, it’s expected of him to be the eldest counterpart, it is the most favourable position according to father. No Malfoy would aspire any less. Lucius made this abundantly clear since birth. 

A Malfoy wouldn’t do to betroth a spouse senior to him. Though—if up to Draco—it wouldn’t do to betroth a wife at all. It was never for the shortage of interest the opposite gender presented towards him; it was his aversion and lack of physical reactions to the female curves that sealed the deal for Draco at fourteen. 

Broad-chested, male quidditch players, however, were a different muscle game. Those most certainly stirred something in his boxers. Often and rather hard to be honest. No one was gayer than Draco Malfoy—Blaise used to say. 

And this was why Draco opted to hide away for this pivotal moment.

Fear.

Fear of what it would do to him. He’d heard the stories before, of those with different inclinations like him. It never mattered. Soulmate magic was strong enough to take over in the name of reproduction. 

A shiver ran along his spine at the thought of the life they expected him to live for being born a Malfoy, and the life they expected him to live as a bonded Soulmate to a woman. Not finding your Soulmate would cause a half-lived life, wizarding kind said. But, for Draco, finding his Soulmate, meant no life at all. At least not one he was keen on living. 

A gush of air entered from the window, carrying a pungent smell of roses, and rustled the cream curtains. Draco’s attention flickered to the movement before coming back to the white sheets pooled around him, covering his legs. The creases created wavelike shades, and for a moment, time stood still. 

So hell arrived.

His wand buzzed the birthday alarm seconds before a white-hot burn surged from his shoulder down his arm. His teeth bit on his tongue, and the harsh tang of blood filled his mouth. He whispered a quick wand-less silencio just as a sharp pull tore at his heart and agonised screams ripped in echoes off the walls. Fire danced on his wrist and made his eyes bleed tears. Alarm-bells reminded him the marking shouldn’t hurt, and Draco forced his eyes to train on the narrow pale skin, where a haggard **b** in pitch black emerged. 

‘What the fuck’, he thought. The sensation of wrong tore through his chest. ‘Salazar, father, will kill me.’ Draco groaned as the tan-brown tones of the room swirled together. The dark wooden floor rushed towards him, and with the thought of how the hell he succeeded to climb out of the bloody bed, darkness claimed him.

↞↭↠

The solid cold floor pressed against his side, numbing his skin. Ah, yes, he was still shirtless. Shirtless and sprawled inelegantly on the floor. How low can a Malfoy go? Considerably, it appeared. 

Draco turned to press his back against the cold surface, stretched out his arm, and let the knuckles of his fingers trace the veins carved in the rough-wooden floors. His eyes closed as he welcomed the chill against his heated skin. After a moment, he turned his head towards his newly marked wrist and the jagged black rune that mocked his luck. 

The thing with soulmate numbers was half that of the Wizarding world kens the ones available. The consequences of not finding your match meant a life of childless, half-assumed happiness. They published lists every month in the Daily Prophet to make it easier to discover yours. And this was why one Draco Malfoy itched to pace his rented hotel suite like a werewolf in heat. 

He immediately recognised who his soulmate was. His mate’s rune, and now his own, was infamous in wizarding Britain. The first wizards ever to have a rune mark. Not a trivial occurrence. And although non-common things were in great appreciation by the Malfoy’s, being soul bound to a Weasley was definitely not. 

Draco condemned Salazar, Merlin, and Harry Potter all at once because it felt bloody good too. He let his fleeing glance study his wrist one more time before he pushed his aching body off the floor. 

‘Motherfucker. Bloody Charles—dragon loving—Weasley’. Draco fumed as he pressed chilled digits against his face to cover his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then ran the rest of his hand down his face before letting it fall to his side. 

Not only was his soulmate unable to provide him with an heir, but he was also a Weasley. In the Malfoy book of rightfulness, a bigger insult did not exist than either being gay or a red-haired, Weasley named person. Draco ticked all the fucking disinheritance boxes.

‘Stupid Charles, with his foolish dragons, senseless tattoos, stupid big arms, and chest, and,’ Draco rapidly ran out of fumes as the biggest realisation yet hit home. 

Charles might be similar in height to himself, but he is three times as broad. He’s, in all honesty, a wide-chested, heavy-muscled packed, and more to the point male ex-quidditch player. 

Not that it mattered. Draco’s bollocks will be non-existent soon enough. Fuck, he is truly and utterly screwed.

↞↭↠

Nothing appeared to work for Draco, who realised with a plummeting heart after waking up mere minutes from his marking, that he was alone in a hotel room. Even with Charles in Romania, it wouldn’t take long before he came to him. Draco could sense the pull in his own chest, urging him to get into proximity of his soulmate. It is nothing near the regular soulmate process that Draco had been learning and preparing for most of his life. Instead, instinctual Draco recognised his mate. What meant Charles had too. 

The man became something close to a soulmate legend after his marking. He remembered hearing the story of Charles’s rune for the first time in his third year at Hogwarts. The Daily Prophet ran one sensational story after the other after a reporter overheard the Weasley matron talking to a friend in Diagon Alley. Her Charlie wanted to keep it a secret he was marked by a rune instead of a number. The speculations on what Charles Rune meant grew like FiendFire. So much so, that a reluctant Charles ended up giving an interview, explaining the pain he endured during this marking and the physical pull he experienced towards his mate. A picture of his grey rune existed, but he never disclosed who his mate was, and always reacted blunt and abrupt would turn away from questions in that direction. 

Like his snow-panther Patronus, Draco paced the room. Charles had known he had known who Draco was all along, and the bastard had never said a damn thing. 

The intense rhythmic beat he had awoken within his chest became bruising. The sound clobbered his bones, liquefied his muscles, and when a tendril of tenderness furled, then blossomed in the pit of his heart, he understood. 

Slowly, he turned towards the door. The dark mahogany glared at him, the golden doorknob the centre of the room. The reverberating plop of apparition brushed the other side of the door, and the muted heavy footsteps thudded on the carpeted hallway. Draco’s breath suspended as his heart attempted to stutter out his body. 

The closer the steps got, the harder the pounding in his chest moved him forward. A strong knock made the wood of the door tremble and aligned Draco’s body. At that moment, everything became real. A loud breath of air drew from his lungs as he moved his hand towards the door. His fingers curled around the cold round golden knob, fingers pulled tight but didn’t turn.

What was he doing? Father would kill him. Dread rose in his body, and his fingers trembled, losing grip. 

‘Draco, I thought you had those pesky things called manners.’ The depth of Charles’s voice smothered over Draco’s frazzled nerves, and his grip tightened again on the handle. His fingers turned and pulled the door open, where he faced his broad-chested, red-haired and freckled dusted other half-of-soul. 

Charles Weasley, his infuriatingly hot mate, stood casually perched with a shoulder against the wall, legs loosely crossed, an escaped tendril of long hair framing his face. A smirk tugged the side of his mouth up, and as his eyes shifted a brighter teal-green they had any right to be, as they landed on Draco. The chill of the hallway suffused Draco’s chest, and Charles’s gaze lowered at once. In a rush, heat prickled along Draco’s skin, painting it a dusty pink as he recalled he was still bloody shirtless. 

And now with stiff nipples. 

Well, shit. 

‘Hello Draco,’ Charlie said. A voice so sinful dark they should classify it a ministry secret. ‘You have grown up to be an exceptional specimen of Dragon. I like that you are a tad taller than me.’ He peeled himself off the wall, and took measured steps through the door, body angled towards Draco. His chest brushed against Draco’s shoulder as he leaned in unhurried. 

‘You knew it was me all along, you bastard.’ Draco’s arm suffused with warmth and goosebumps that could very well bugger off according to Draco’s sanity. 

Charles chuckled, the sound drenched Draco in a warm syrupy aura and plucked at every nerve-string he possessed. The scent of wild mountains and crisp campfire permeated the air as Charles moved closer and his lips brushed the shell of Draco’s ear. 

‘Yes, I did.’

The flamboyant way he stood—eyes flared with hunger—just staring him down, finally rattled Draco to react. He was a Malfoy for Salazar’s sake. For a beat, his vision pelted white, but Draco moved before he realised it himself. Long pale fingertips reached out and touched the dark suntanned stubble on Charles’s chin. He pressed the cool digits across the sting of beard, the chiselled cheekbone, and freckled ear. They curled into the red mess of Charles ponytail and dug into his red wild thick strands. He angled his head and with a whispered—tosser—pulled Charles up the inch he had on him and crashed his lips against a remarkable soft mouth. 

A sharp gasp fled Charles, but he didn’t hesitate. His vast arms coiled around Draco’s waist, yanking him flush against his brawny chest. The push of a tongue prodded his lips, and Draco gladly gave it permission. Charles deepened the kiss and claimed his mate with a hunger Draco never experienced with another soul. 

Draco’s body melted. Bloody melted at the friction of Charlie’s lips that spread against his, and a shudder awoke so deep below his belt he swung both arms around Charlie’s wide shoulders and urged his body closer. 

The heat pulsing off his mate, fused with Draco’s soul and part of him instinctively called out to Charlie’s. Soul magic saturated his toes, crawled up his legs, and the pounding in his chest turned uneven and double. Charlie’s heart came to life alongside his own as the beat fused to his. Skin prickled, burned as magic whipped around them in thick white strands.

When Charlie plucked at Draco’s lower lip, the blood in his veins slugged, making Draco dizzy. Without preamble, two large hands cupped his arse, and with the flex of two biceps his mate heaved him up into the air. The hands meandered to the lowest part of his arse, meeting at the clef and pulling his legs apart, Charlie wrapped Draco’s long legs around his waist, pulling him flush against him. 

Draco’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, as his crotch pressed snug against the hard planes of Charles’s stomach muscles. They rippled and danced each step Charles took towards the bed. A movement, Draco was sure, his mate must have learned as it was unduly devious and too enticing to be a natural gift. Draco could only hold on as Charles’s mouth nibbled the tender flesh behind his ear. 

His mate stopped at the foot of the bed, large hands traced trails of fire up his sides until they ended under his armpits. Draco’s mind had no chance to register a thing before he was sailing backward through the air towards the bed. With a thud and the grace of a sack of potatoes, Draco landed arse first, eyes wider than the shocked scowl on his face. 

‘Salazar Charles, what the bloody fuck.’ Draco yelled while he lifted himself up to lean back on his hands. 

‘Charlie, not Charles.’ the smirk on Charles’s face, however, had Draco’s next words die on the spot. With a clean movement, Charlie stood before him bare-chested, and with a flick of his wrist, his belt slid open, letting his jeans drop dangerously low on his hips. A trail of cherry red surrounded by dark freckles disappeared into faded jeans and Draco wanted nothing more than to nuzzle his face again the planes of perfect sculpted freckled flesh. 

‘Oh, fuck you freckled bastard.’ Draco whispered. 

‘That was the idea. Though we have twelve hours to seal the bond, I have been waiting eight years for my Dragon.’ Charlie’s voice was lethal and Draco was positive it relented his bones to liquid. He looked into the pensive face of his mate. 

Charlie’s jeans fell, revealing a lack of underwear before he bent forward, and let his hands rest on the bed encasing his mate within them. He moved in a crawl until his knees joined the bed covers, forcing Draco to lay back down. Charlie’s nose came down to nuzzle the skin behind his ear. 

‘Lean into the discomfort my Dragon, embrace it and let it permeate through your veins,’ Charlie whispered and a wandless whisper, and seductive grin later, Draco felt his clothes vanish. 'Then, let me make you bloom.’

Draco stared, felt hunted by a predator and forced frozen on the spot. The sleek movement of Charlie’s muscles rippled with every inch he inched closer over Draco. The heat of his mate’s body hit his skin first, then the scent of firewood doused him. His body encased within the broadness of Charlie’s shoulders, and Draco suddenly longed for his mate to cover him like a protective blanket against the chill in the room. The mattress under him dipped as Charlie’s right knee nudged his legs apart. The left came to land next to it. Draco vibrated with want and the inclination to pull this man, this infuriating freckled bastard down became close to unbearable. Then, Charlie’s face turned his mouth a hairbreadth away from Draco’s, letting a susurration of air dance over his bruised lips. 

‘Why did it have to be you?’ Draco said. 

‘Because,’ Charlie whispered. ‘I tame dragon fire.’ Teal locked on grey as he lowered his flank, and pressed down between Draco’s spread legs. 

‘Fuck you and your poetry, Red,’ Draco moaned, but at last, Charlie moved up and slid his aching prick against Draco’s and covered his whole body with his own, tilting Draco’s world sideways. 

‘And,’ he said. ‘I know how to keep them happy.’ He grinned before he covered Draco’s lips with his. Magic sparked around them, pulling thick white flames in and through them. 

Draco didn’t notice, his world centred around the large thick prick that rode him into the mattress. And with an undignified keen, Draco let his soulmate drown him in the breath of dragon fire, he knew his mate could handle.

↞↭↠

  
  



	2. Charlie and his pile of blond guilt.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie makes a living out of keeping and protecting the most dangerous dragons. But, is his approach to his own Draconis the right one? Things aren't always as they seem.

# ↞↭↠ ** _Charlie Weasley_ **↞↭↠

_**H** e’d_ always been an early riser, but today the light filtering through the curtains announcing morning awoke Charlie. Staying still, he reflected on how his life had changed the last hours. A heavy-weight on his chest, and a conflicted feeling in his bones. Eight years. Eight years he’d been waiting for his mate to reach binding age.

To say his own marking at the time had overwhelmed him, was gentle said. It burned like the fire some of his dragons enkindled on him, and the unexpected pull he felt to take an immediate portkey to England was beyond his understanding. Until his mind settled, and his heart slowed, and the images of a young blond boy crept into his mind. He knew right there and then, unequivocally, that Draco Malfoy was to be his soulmate, and the rune instead of a number on his wrist meant they were no ordinary Soulmates. 

At first he felt cheated by such a younger soulmate than himself. It is rare. Then again, a rune mark has never happened—as far as he knew, and two male soulmates is unheard of considering their inability to reproduce. Not that he minded per se, Charlie had realised early in life he was gay. But, to learn that fate allow him a love for the sake of loving a person, and it then turns out to be the most stuck-up, Poncey-pureblood of them all, was a hard rock to swallow. 

Their ancestors created the entire concept of soulmates to prevent wizarding kind falling into extinction. A needed one, it proved. What with the idiocy of the wizarding sense of entitled supremacy, killing more wizards per year than their muggle counterparts. 

Potion accidents, spell backlash and general stupidity made the wizarding population grow smaller each year. That they lived longer than muggles didn’t seem to help. 

So yea, Charlie understood why soulmates were necessary. But he didn’t however, understand why he had to have a Poncey-pureblood supremacist with a vendetta against his family as a mate. Two days after his marking, Charlie couldn’t resist the drum in his chest and the pull on his bones. He let his superiors know he had some family business and grabbed the first Portkey to spend time in closer proximity to his future mate. 

It didn’t matter to his soul that he only saw Draco twice in the span of the two months he spent in England. Somehow the drum in his heart always let him know how Draco was doing. Over the years it had driven him near mad. Like the time he was at Hogwarts during the Triwizard tournament and not being able to spend any time close to his mate. Like during the second wizarding war where he was close to breaking down, grab his mate, and haul him to safety in Romania. He knew he couldn’t. Draco did not understand he was to be bonded to man, and Charlie would not say anything that could jeopardise his mates marking. Who knows what Draco or this father would have done if they had known beforehand. 

During the battle he protected Draco as much as he could without revealing himself, throwing curses at attackers and protegos at his mate. To the point he lost overview of his own safety and had the scars to prove it. He had no control over this need, and to be honest, after so many years of existing from the sidelines, he didn’t care anymore either. He had accepted his fate, and that was it.

Now, he laid on this huge king size bed, with a bundle of naked blond dragon wrapped around him. Draco’s long locks fanned out in contrast against his tanned freckled chest, his soft breathing skittering over his skin. Charlie knew he would have to wake him up soon. They needed to talk, and Charlie, wasn’t looking forward to it. He knew the first moments spent together with your mate after marking are choreographed by the Soulbond. That, it seems, was like all other soulmate-bonds. The primal urge to mate and bond with the missing part of your soul. And Godric’s bollocks they did that magnificently. 

Many, many times. 

Charlie’s hand smoothed over pale skin at the top of Draco’s arse. Remembering how he had taken Draco apart, felt him come undone around his prick when buried deep in the blond again and again, made his body thrum alive. A pulsing heat pooled at the bottom of his belly, and his prick fattened. Time to face the music, he told himself. He’d never been afraid facing a dragon, and he would be damned if he started now. 

‘Draco,’ he said, and gently pressured the blond’s lower back. Curling his fingers, he scraped his nails upwards Draco’s spine and felt the blond being pulled from slumber. At first, he felt Draco’s arms tighten around his waist, hips inclining forwards and pressuring a most definitely hard prick against his hip. A few slow undulations later, the blond awoke enough to realise where he was because his muscles pulled tight, and he froze. 

Charlie however wasn’t ready for the young dragon to flee the bed at once. Waking up with his mate was something he had dreams about for ten years. Confrontation could bloody well wait. Draco stirred, and the arms that had been around his waist lifted to push himself away. 

‘Not yet little dragon,’ Charlie grumbled and in a flash had Draco pressed underneath him, covering the lithe body with his heavy broad one. Shocked silver eyes looked up into his face, and a second later they narrowed dangerously. So without waiting, Charlie slid his body down, closed his hands around each side of the narrow hips, pinned Draco down, and engulfed the still hard prick in one swallow. 

‘Fuck.’ Draco hissed and his hips flexed up. ‘Salazar balls, Red, don’t you dare stop.’

Charlie felt slim hands curl into his hair and smiled around Draco, before sucking hard and making his dragon keen for more. 

↞↭↠

Charlie watched from the bed, pressed up against the thick covers as a pale bare arse fled through the bathroom door. A crashing sound of glass resounded a few seconds later, and an explanatory of words that was probably good he couldn’t decipher. He grinned, and stretched his legs out on the bed, Charlie summoned his oak wand and with a practised flick of his wrist, threw a quick cleaning charm over himself. 

A welcome’s gush of fresh wind blew into the room and Charlie let his body rest against the headboard. He turned to look out the window, not bothering to cover himself. Yes, Draco raved, but his hand lifted to come and rest against his heart, where he could feel the jumble of feelings he recognised as Draco’s. 

It was clear this all confused the young dragon, overwhelmed him, but the happy excited beat that flickered around the edges was consoling. It wasn’t as if Charlie couldn’t understand what Draco must feel. After all, he had already had eight years to get used to this. Draco had mere hours and already had to deal with more than Charlie ever had. 

Realisation hit him, and a churning of guilt punctured his chest. Charlie lifted himself off the bed with a grunt and got dressed while the sounds of a shower came from the other room. Oh, how he wanted to waltz in there and fog up the room with Draco’s moans. A curl of shock slid through him, and Charlie stuttered for a moment. Ah yes, bonded, Draco could feel his desires too. 

He ran his hand through the tangle of his long red locks and moved to the sitting area further into the room. He looked over the beige two-seaters standing opposed to each other and the stone table between them. On a desk close by, an ordinary phone stood. He walked over it, picking up the menu on the side he grabbed the handle and put in an order of breakfast for two. 

Breakfast arrived a good twenty minutes before the door of the bathroom opened, revealing a blushed and pink-skinned Draco. Charlie looked up into the weary face of his mate. The guilt pulled at him again, and he tried a comforting smile. Draco seemed to flinch at that, so Charlie signed and pointed at the two-seater opposite him in invitation. 

‘I won’t bite Dragon,’ Charlie said. ‘Let's have something to eat and talk.’ 

Draco huffed, ‘Don’t call me Dragon,’ but moved towards him. 

‘Why not? You seem to call me Red.’ Charlie said. 

Draco was wearing a simple white blouse, three top buttons undone and grey slacks. His bare feet made no sound as he gracefully closed the disdains between them. Charlie felt his body react, heat pooling between his legs at seeing his mate this way. Draco’s step faltered for a second, before a blush crept on his pale cheeks. Charlie can’t help but find it adorable. 

‘You can’t blame me Dragon, you are exquisite.’ He smiled as Draco nestled himself in the sofa’s corner opposite him. Tucking his feet under his arse, Draco met Charlie’s eyes. 

‘Well, you’re no eyesore either,’ he said. ‘look, I understand the urges to consummate the bond, but you could have given me some time to land.’ 

‘You’re right,’ Charlie said to the shocked features of Draco. ‘I should have given you time to adapt. I had eight years to get used to you.’ He folded his hands together and leaned his back to the sofa. His gaze however didn’t deter from Draco’s stare. 

‘For that I’m sorry. I’m not sorry however for what happened between us. I've waited for this moment for almost a decade. Followed you from the sidelines for years, and when you came within my reach, well,’ He opened his arms and splayed out his hands. 

‘I’m sorry if I’m not what you hoped for in a Soulbond,’ Charlie lowered his hands, placing them on his knees he leaned towards his mate. ‘But, I promise you, I’ll protect you, and treat you right. I’ll even try to see how we can get you an heir.’

Draco sat straighter at that. He looked at him with wide grey eyes, a new blush blossoming from cheeks to his ears. 

‘Actually,’ Draco said, twisting his hands in his lap. ‘I’m relieved it was someone like you. I mean, I’m as gay as you can get, Red’s. And I was terrified of what was to happen at my coming of age,’ 

‘So, what now?’ Charlie said. Relief drummed through his chest, and he didn’t think it was purely his own. 

Draco signed, lifting his fingers to rub at his eyebrows. His hand came down to cover his mouth for a moment, as if considering what to say. 

‘I don’t know Charlie,’ he said. ‘My father will never approve of this, your family won’t be thrilled either. I can’t even sort out how I feel about this, to consider how to go on from here on out. This is a bloody mess.’ Draco broke eye contact as he let his head fall face-first into the palm of his hand. 

‘No, I can’t see how this will go over well with either of our families. Perhaps we should take some time to get to know another first, before we tell them something. And we should try to figure out the meaning behind this rune while at it.’ Charlie suggested. 

‘And how do you suggest I do this with the fucking thing burned on our arms? It’s not that this isn’t unknown thanks to you,’

‘Yea, I didn’t expect my mother to tell anyone about that. It became bigger than myself before I could do anything to stop it,’ Charlie felt his cheeks heating and ran his fingers over his face. 

‘I can’t change the past, but we can work with this,’ he pointed at his own now black rune on his wrist. ‘When I found out you were my mate, I realised that things are going to have to be done with caution. And because of that, the last eight years I spent looking for a way to change the appearance of the mark.’

Draco scoffed, ‘That’s impossible. It’s never done before.’

‘It’s never done before, because few wanted too. There are only a select group of people who have faced the same situation we are in, or similar enough. I have found a way, my dragon.’ Charlie shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smile. 

‘Don’t pull my bollocks Weasley,’ but the insult came out flat, Draco’s voice soft and tinted with too much hope. ‘And don’t call me that.’ He whispered. 

‘Why not? You are a dragon, and my mate. Nothing I’ll ever be ashamed of’. For a second he stopped himself, but the pull had been building up in his chest again and he signed. Pushing his hands against his knees he rose from the sofa, eyes trained on Draco he calmly stepped to the other sofa. He nestled in the corner on the other side of Draco. Twisting to face him, he lifted his bare feet and put them on the pillow between them. His arms came to rest on his raised knee’s and Charlie let his chin rest on his folded hands. his eyes never left his mates. 

Draco’s face flickered with many emotions. Too many for Charlie to filter thought, not that he needed it. The closer to his mate, the easier it was to distinguish his heartbeat from Draco’s. He could feel the fear mixing with hope, arousal and something he couldn’t yet put his finger on. Longing, maybe. Cocking his head to the right, he let his eyes fall closed for a second, before facing his mate once again. 

‘I know how to charm the rune to look like a number to others. We just need to figure out what number to use,’ he said, ‘We figure that out, we have all the time in the world. I’ll tell my family the next time I visit them my rune turned black, but that my mate—for now—is not ready to reveal herself. It’s not uncommon to do that my Draconis’. 

Draco’s face flushed the loveliest shade of red again as he leaned forwards towards Charlie. 

Charlie chuckled, ‘You like that one Draconis.’

‘Yes’. Came a choked breathless whisper. 

Charlie breathed and unwrapped himself. Rotating his body towards his mate, who was on his way to the middle himself, Charlie positioned himself on his knees and let his hand reach out to curl behind his mates neck. Letting the digits curl in the soft strands, he scraped his blunt nails over Draco’s sensitive skin. 

‘We’ll do this our way, Draconis. Fuck the rest of the world,’ he whispered against the blond’s pink lips. 

Draco let out a frustrated keen ‘Okay Reds,’ and closed the distance. Kissing his mate hard, Charlie tumbled backwards against the armrest. Even before he could stretch his legs over the length of the sofa, his mate crawled on top of him and buttons flew. 

‘Now make this worth my while.’ 

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear what you think! Feedback is like hot coffee after a bad nighs sleep. I'll be eternally grateful to you if you present me with some ;) 
> 
> I highly recommend reading my fellow fest writer’s stories too! They are all brilliant! 


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